


Behind the Sunflowers

by magickalmolly



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: Scratching at the back of his head, Sam walked up and down the rows of the garden, looking for his missing charge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the first line of the "Twelve Days of Christmas" song "a partridge in a pear tree". 
> 
> The year is 1393 (SD), making Master Samwise thirteen, and young Master Took three years old.
> 
> Originally written December 26, 2004.

"Now where's that little one gone off to this time?" 

Scratching at the back of his head, Sam walked up and down the rows of the garden, looking for his missing charge. Mister Merry was the one who usually kept the young Took under control, but as he was all wrapped up in those fancy books with Mister Frodo and Mister Bilbo, the responsibility had fallen onto Sam's shoulders. 

Problem was, even at three years old, Peregrin Took was as fast and slippery as a piglet that wouldn't be put back in its pen. Sam had been searching for a quarter of an hour already, and if he didn't find Pippin soon, he'd have to go back to Bag End for reinforcements.

There was a rustle of noise behind the sunflowers, just to Sam's right, and he cocked his head, listening.

"Master Pippin?" 

There it was again, a soft shifting against the ground, and then... singing? No, it was more like humming, but Sam instantly recognized the childish timbre. 

Sam moved closer to the source of the sound, using his quietest hobbit steps before peering through the tall green stalks to where he thought Pippin to be. 

"Hoy lad, _there_ you are." 

Pippin's copper head popped up at the sound of Sam's voice, eyes wide and unblinking. But instead of looking chastised, Pippin pressed a chubby finger to his bowed lips, and shushed Sam tenaciously. 

Looking down again, Pippin picked up where he'd left off with his humming, to whatever it was he was cradling on his lap, and it was only then that Sam realized the young hobbit held something. 

"What's that you've got there?" Sam whispered, honouring Pippin's request. He crouched down slowly, wondering if this little Took had managed to catch himself a coney or summat. 

But there, bundled up in the hem of Pippin's untucked shirt, was a partridge.

"Birdie," Pippin explained with a curl-bobbing nod, and his tiny hand petted at the gray and brown feathers of the huddled bird, surprisingly gentle. The bird looked as if it weren't quite full grown, covered here and there with downy fluff, and Sam had to smile at the sight. Not a baby, just like the littlest member of the Took clan liked to remind them all. 

"What're you doing with that bird then, Master Pippin? You shouldn't be taking the chicks from their nest, or the mamma bird'll get awfully cross."

Shaking his head, Pippin's pale eyebrows furrowed over his summer-green eyes. "Not take birdie. Help birdie." Sam didn't know what Pippin meant by that, and his own brows furrowed as well as he peered at the bird more closely.

But Pippin lifted the bird then, as carefully as his little hands could manage, and he showed Sam the bird's underside. "Birdie hurt. See?" 

Tangled around the partridge's claws was a bit of twine – the same twine that Sam's Gaffer uses to tie up the shoots and vines in the vegetable patch. The partridge obviously got itself snared somehow, and Pippin must have found it that way. That Pippin had not tried to untangle the bird's claws himself (and more than likely injure the poor thing) was quite a surprise to Sam. He gathered that Pippin had been waiting for someone to find him. 

"Here now," Sam's voice was gentle as he reached for the bird, and Pippin handed it over, relief apparent on his small face. The bird, however, didn't seem as agreeable, and began to squawk and flap its short wings, vainly trying for escape.

Sam had caught quite a few birds for supper despite his young age, and were he alone, it would have only taken a flick of his wrist before this partridge would be ready for his mum's cook pot. But he wasn't, and so he didn't, tucking the protesting bird under his arm instead, and patiently untangling the twine from its claws with nimble fingers.

Once he was finished, the twine was slipped into his pocket, and the partridge was placed on the earth, where it ruffled its feathers indignantly before waddling away, as fast as its stubby legs could carry it. 

Pippin seemed sad for it to go, and truth be told, Sam was too, if for an entirely different reason. But then Pippin gave Sam a peck on the cheek, and wrapped his chubby arms around Sam's neck, hugging him in silent thanks. 

Blushing, Sam returned the embrace, then pulled back, smiling up into Pippin's freckled face.

"Alright; enough of that, Master Pippin. It's almost dinner time, and I'm thinking Mister Bilbo'll want you to scrub off all the dirt you're wearing before he'll let you eat at his table."

Pippin's only answer to that was a giggle and a grin, and he let Sam scoop him up before the two of them headed back to the smial.

~fin~


End file.
